


Like A Lullaby

by RoseByAnyOtherName17



Series: 30 Day Writing Challenge (Derek/Stiles) [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 03:34:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7668562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseByAnyOtherName17/pseuds/RoseByAnyOtherName17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott ripped the door off with a roar of rage, and seconds later the ambulance drove up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like A Lullaby

Stiles couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept outside of the hospital, with Melissa bringing him food and occasionally making him curl up on the couch in the nurse’s lounge. He knew it had only been a few days, but it felt like so much longer with the people that had been drifting in and out every few hours.

Scott had been there first, arriving nearly at the same time the ambulance did. He and Stiles were the ones who found the police cruiser wrapped around a tree just outside of town, who called 911 and desperately tried to figure out a way to get the sheriff out without hurting him further. Stiles had been hysterical, until Scott ripped off the door with a roar of rage, sending it flying clear across the road. Seconds later, the ambulance appeared, sparing only a cursory glance at the door before extricating Sheriff Stilinski from the wreckage.

Scott stayed with Stiles for the first night, an arm wrapped around his shoulders and Stiles’ head tucked into the crook of his neck. Lydia had appeared a few hours later, demanding to know why she hadn’t been called; she hadn’t forgotten that it was Stiles’ father who gave her his jacket when she appeared naked from the woods. She sat down on Stiles’ other side and took his hand, carefully massaging the kinks from his fingers and pushing a thumb into his palm. 

It was nearly sunrise by the time the doctor came out from surgery and Stiles stood up immediately, dislodging Lydia and Scott from their places. “He pulled through the surgery, but his chest was severely compressed and his right femur was shattered. We managed to stop the internal bleeding…”

“But will he be okay?” Stiles hardly heard anything he said, just wanting a straight answer.

“He’ll live,” Melissa assured him, grasping his hand and squeezing it lightly. “But he’ll need physical therapy and it could be a long time before he can move the way you’re used to, if ever. He’s going to be here for quite awhile.”

Stiles sank back down into a chair, hands over his face and shaking. Lydia ran a hand through his hair. “You should go home, son,” the doctor said gently.

“Not—not yet,” Stiles muttered. “Can I see him?”

It was decided that Stiles wouldn’t be left alone, so everyone was taking shifts staying with him. Scott, Lydia, Kira, Isaac, even Jackson rotated sitting with him when he wasn’t in his father’s room. The sheriff couldn’t speak for more than a few minutes at a time, but Stiles couldn’t find it in himself to say too much either, choosing instead to sit in silence and hold his hand. The shadows under his eyes grew with each passing day, until finally his dad drew enough strength to insist he go home. “I’ll be fine,” he whispered hoarsely. “Go be a normal kid. Please.”

Stiles couldn’t find it in himself to be surprised when Derek poked his head into the room. “Scott’s mom called me,” he explained. “She doesn’t think you’ll be okay to drive.”

“I couldn’t if I wanted to,” Stiles said quietly. “Jeep’s not here.”

The sheriff said something so softly that Stiles couldn’t hear, but Derek nodded. “I won’t,” he said. “C’mon, Stiles.” 

It wasn’t until they were driving downtown that Stiles realized they weren’t going to his house. “Where are you taking me?” he asked dully.

“Melissa thought you shouldn’t be left alone,” Derek told him, parking steadily. “So you’re staying with me.”

Stiles’ hands clenched in his lap. “I don’t need a babysitter. I’m fine.”

“That’s great.” Derek rolled his eyes at him. “How about a friend then?”

“We’re not friends.”

Stiles winced even as the words came out of his mouth, because he still hated that Derek only really kept him around because of Scott. Derek looked sideways at him like he knew what he was thinking, but Stiles didn’t want to meet his gaze. He kept his eyes lowered until a hand landed on his shoulder. “Come on. Cora said she was making you dinner.”

The smell of French toast hit Stiles before they even walked into the loft. “Pretty sure French toast isn’t dinner.”

“Scott said that you don’t like putting food into mealtime categories,” Cora said, opening the door and pulling him into a hug. “And I figured that you wouldn’t mind whatever I made, because you haven’t eaten anything other than hospital food in almost a week.”

Almost a week? Stiles hadn’t realized how long it had been. He’d hardly seen the light of day to be able to tell.

“Thanks Cor,” he said instead, letting her kiss his cheek before making her way back to the stove. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

“You once gave me the kiss of life,” she teased. “Let me do the same.”

Derek growled lowly from halfway up the spiral staircase. Cora laughed and stuck her tongue out at him. “Don’t be jealous, Derek. It’s just a figure of speech.”

Stiles scowled when Peter came in through the door a few minutes later, carrying a duffle bag that looked suspiciously like the one Stiles usually brought for sleepovers at Scott’s. “Is that my pillow?” he demanded, snatching it from the werewolf’s grip. 

“Derek said you can’t sleep without your pillow,” Peter drawled.

“Did you break into my house?” Stiles felt his stress about his dad melting away, replaced with mixed anger and disgust at the idea of Peter going through his things.

“You left your window open.”

Derek appeared from out of nowhere, taking the pillow from Stiles’ loose grip and the duffle bag from Peter. “I told you I’d handle that when I got him here.”

“Well I didn’t think you’d want to let him leave your sight.” Peter smirked. “So I did everyone a favor and prevented a seriously uncomfortable staring session that was bound to commence when you prepared to go get his stuff.” He looked back at Stiles. “Close your mouth. A fly could decide that it wants to make a home in there.”

Cora stepped in, handing a plate full of eggs, strawberries and toast to Stiles. “Eat all of this,” she instructed, pulling him toward the couch. “If you don’t, I’ll cry.”

“You will not,” Stiles muttered, but he took a reluctant bite of eggs anyways, finding that it was the most appetizing thing he’d had in days. His hunger was returning with a vengeance, and he forced himself to eat slowly. Cora looked pleased with herself when he finished in ten minutes, placing her feet in his lap and eating her own food across the couch. 

Stiles felt his eyes slipping shut, his head falling onto his shoulder as he slumped down into the couch. He felt more relaxed than he had in a long time, even before finding his dad’s car wrapped around that tree. Probably since before the nogitsune. He wasn’t too concerned about pinpointing the exact day, because his body was spiraling towards sleep with every breath.

“Alright,” Derek’s voice brought him back to consciousness. “Bed. Now.”

“You could at least buy me dinner first,” Stiles mumbled, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet and up the stairs.

“There was dinner,” Derek said, sounding suspiciously amused. But that wasn’t right. Derek didn’t like Stiles enough to find anything he said funny. “You really need to stop thinking that,” Derek muttered, pushing a pile of clothes into his arms and turning him to the bathroom. And really, had Stiles said that out loud? He was really tired.

Fifteen minutes later he stumbled out of the bathroom, having taken it upon himself to shower away the hospital smell that was undoubtedly clinging to his skin. “Derek?” 

“In here.”

Derek was wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt that was loose even on him. Stiles couldn’t help but wonder about the book he was reading, or why he was stretched out on the side of the bed that Stiles’ pillow wasn’t. “Uh.”

Derek sighed, closing the book and gazing at him from the bed. “Can we skip the conversation where you ask uncomfortable questions about sharing a bed and offer to sleep on the couch instead? You’ve been sleeping in hospital chairs for five days, you’re exhausted, and I’m not giving up my room for you or making you share with Peter. So calm the hell down and go to sleep.” Despite the harsh words, his tone was gentle, and Stiles only hesitated for a few seconds before sliding under the comforter and turning on his side away from Derek, keeping plenty of space between them. 

He only startled a little bit when an arm wrapped around his chest and he was yanked back against the hard body behind him. “I’ll take you to see your dad in the morning,” Derek murmured in his ear, his breath playing across Stiles’ neck and making him shudder. A second later a nose was tucking itself into the nape of his neck and Derek relaxed behind him.

“Thanks,” Stiles said quietly, hardly daring to move, hoping against hope that Derek couldn’t tell how fast his heartbeat was going. He doubted it, what with werewolf hearing and the hand that was curled right over his heart.

“Goodnight, Stiles.”

Stiles was lulled to sleep by the steady heartbeat against his back.


End file.
